Mr Longbottom Flies
by FwooperSongs
Summary: You didn't think he fell off on his own, did you? What really happened to Neville in that first flying lesson.


_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..._

* * *

Neville Longbottom would never know, and neither would Harry Potter nor Albus Dumbledore, though the latter had his suspicions; Lord Voldemort's first attack on Hogwarts after a decade of silence, was not his attempt at the Philosopher's Stone, but the unsuccessful murder of a student.

Only two will ever know this and both are dead now. One of them was Quirinus Quirrell, Ravenclaw, DADA Professor from 1991-1992 and the other was, of course, the Dark Lord.

'Now when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground hard,' said Madam Hooch to her Slytherin-Gryffindor class. 'Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly.'

It was a clear day and the classes were conducted on the lawns just opposite the Forbidden Forest. Hogwarts had always been incredibly beautiful. Even its grounds, the cheerfully swaying green-green grass contrasting starkly with the dark and mysterious Forest, were breathtaking. But the twenty robed figures standing in two neat lines took no notice. They were all concentrating hard on their professor.

It was quite understandable. After all, flying lessons were widely acknowledged to be one of the more dangerous classes taught to first years. A mistake here could mean that a student would be spending a night in the Hospital Wing, or worse.

Wizards, though astoundingly long lived were not invulnerable and young ones were more at risk to physical dangers.

'On my whistle,' Madam Hooch continued, '-three – two'

Professor Quirrell who was walking down a corridor on the third floor suddenly seemed to experience a curious spasm in his neck. This led to him catching sight of the ongoing flying lesson through one of the castle's many windows. It was a deserted corridor, what with all classes in session, but had there been a student with Professor Quirrell at that moment, he would certainly have found the wizard's behavior…odd.  
No longer twitching or trembling, not seeming nervous at all, Quirrell leaned coolly, almost composed, on the wall next to the open window. His head was bowed; turban carefully kept away from the rough and dusty surface of Hogwarts' stone walls.

Quirrell stared down at the wand in his hands, trailing his fingers down its smooth surface. Then, as if at some silent command, he turned to the window overlooking the grounds, seeking out one among the twenty children with their broomsticks.

His wand was now clutched tightly in his hand.

_Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips._

This was another chance for Quirrell to be useful for his master, to prove his loyalty. He could do it. He would do it (and in any case, he had no choice). He pointed his wand discretely at the lone student taking of from the grounds, making sure that only the very tip of his wand peeked out from under his sleeve.

Quirrell narrowed his eyes, concentrating hard on the foreign words of the curse. The unfamiliar magic was slippery and difficult to control.

_… rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle – twelve feet –twenty feet. His scared white face looked down at the ground falling away. He gasped, slid sideways off the broom and-_

With a gasp, the Hogwarts professor broke eye contact and sank to his knees, breathing hard.

_Neville, his face tear streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off…_

An incompetent fool, that was what he was. A lucky incompetent fool. Killing Longbottom was merely a passing whim of Lord Voldemort and there was no true need for it, but even so, Quirrell was punished. He was plagued throughout the day by a splitting headache that felt like a rat gnawing at his brain and left him dizzy and nauseous.

_For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell's face._

_'Sometimes,' he said, 'I find it hard to follow my master's instructions – he is a great wizard and I am weak –'_

* * *

_...Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..._

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AN: I think I actually posted this a long time ago...can't remember why I took it off though. My first HP fic! Hope you liked it! :)

Stuff in italics lifted off PS.


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